


Fangirl

by salarta



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Orgasm Without Touch, Other, Premature Ejaculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salarta/pseuds/salarta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elena's excitement toward her work as a Turk goes beyond the call of duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fangirl

**Author's Note:**

> This story came about after I enjoyed writing a short Elena x Tifa G or PG rated story for someone during a Valentine's Day Meme on LJ a few years back.

She sat in the rough, hard chair of the conference room, passing a hand through her comb-swept hair. The wait edged on her. The clock's tick droned its rapid beat second by second. Her perfume reminded her of ocean waves, lapping into Costa Del Sol on one of her many family vacations. Her finger felt the sleekness of her gun's barrel, rummaging through memories of training from her father at the Shinra Military Academy.

~~~~~~~~~~  
The days were replete with sibling chance encounters, shot for shot in the shooting range outmatched by her sister. The stray bullet holes that dotted her paper target like a map of the stars contrasted her sister's perfect headshot aim.

"Keep at it and you'll make it some day, sis."

On those moments, Elena seethed over the subtle mockery her sister left in her wake. Eyes following her sister's exit, Elena grimaced at the sight of her sister's paper target tossed into the wastebasket like a discarded trophy. She rolled up her own prize, ready to adorn the wall of her apartment in a sturdy wooden frame where guests could admire the progress of one bullet an inch nearer the head than last time.  
~~~~~~~~~~

She sat up stiff when she saw the doorknob turn, heart pounding at the stern expression of the Turks' dark-haired leader. When his gaze landed square upon her, she held a dry gulp at bay. A nervous smile shone, her eyes drying to the light simmer of fresh blood running rapids beneath her skin. Fidgeting her feet, she loosened the vice grip of her tie around her neck as another Turk milled in behind Tseng, the bald man sitting with him across the table.

Tseng's comments sounded like words from an angel from on high beaming light and a message to her. "Elena, we've reviewed your credentials. Your marksmanship shows steady, if slow, improvement. Your proficiency with grenades..."

The tension built as she sat there, heat rising from the lowest layers of her body to flush her to a pale pink. She popped a single button of her white dress shirt as her ears phased out the clock's ticks. Rapt with heart-fluttering interest, she hung on every tiny nuance in Tseng's voice and tone like a dog tracing the sway of meat dangling beyond her reach. Her legs weakened to his expert assessment, thighs rubbing a wear into the outside of her dress pants.

"You display high marks in analyzing situations and forming tactics on an as-needed basis. Though you have difficulty transferring this to use of a gun, your vision allows you to spot the difference between enemies and allies from a distance, an invaluable trait during undercover ops."

She sucked in her bottom lip, groping the crotch of her pants without a thought. Everything she'd ever learned at the academy seemed to drain out, staring at him with vacuous awe. The Turk leader exuded confidence, authority, professionalism, everything it meant to be a Turk. She felt like a child playing pretend, sitting there in his midst wearing the official black suit of an agent. Popping open another button became necessary, lips beginning to tremble, holding herself in her own arms. She clutched her elbows tight for a second, then rubbed them against her jacket, then against her thighs until she settled with pressing down on the seat between her spread legs. Sweat begin to bead from the hairline of her forehead, as she heard something so shattering that she caved.

"Based on your qualifications," Tseng said, "we would like you to join us as the newest member of Turks."

"Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed, popping up in her chair. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words. I've been training real hard day in and day out to catch up with my sister, and this is just so amazing."

The glow of excitement brought a huge grin, brown eyes lit up like sparklers. She tucked her hair behind an ear, rambling all thoughts that came tumbling from anywhere but her joy-ravaged mind.

"I just. I can't believe I finally made it! All those years chasing after a dream, it felt too good to really happen to me, you know? How could the kid sister of a Turk ever make it in the same ranks as her. I finally have, and I'm so excited to start my first day, and I.. I..."

Something felt wrong. Very wrong. When the tenth wave of pleasure cycled down to her loins, she wittled what would've been an involuntary buck down to a mere harsh grind into the seat. A clammy gloss formed over her untanned skin, a deep long sigh expelling from her aching lungs. Everything her body did was automatic, overriding all her senses, the pieces unwilling to come together into a conceivable whole.

Then she felt her panties moisten, the blonde mane of her sex doused in her slickness. Her mouth hung open, blinking back the urge to moan and rub herself against her chair. The distant sound of Tseng's voice crept closer and closer until she returned to the here and now. Sensibility slipped as she once more undid a shirt button, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the sweat from her breast.

"Elena... are you feeling well?" Tseng said.

"I'm fine. It's the excitement. This is a big day for me."

"I can see that."

Fear began to set in, wondering if they could tell she'd creamed herself at the great news. She ran her fingers over a cheek, groin beginning to feel sticky as she crossed her legs. Stuffing her damp handkerchief back into her pocket, she corrected her posture into its former rigid example.

"May I be excused? I have to use the ladies' room." Seconds after the words left her tongue, she mentally chastised herself for the embarrassing revelation she offered to her leader.

"You may. Take your time. If you feel ill, we can meet again later."

"Thank you," Elena stood, bowed and took short strides to the door, closing it with the greatest of care toward impressions. The lock clicked. Glimpsing down the hallway to find it empty, she took out her handkerchief again and dug into her pants, quickly wiping herself once.

"What's happening to me?" she thought on her growing love for the concept of Shinra's Turks. Remarks from the other side of the door shook her from her moment of reflection.

"She's overeager and entirely unprofessional," Rude said. "We would be better off waiting for Reno to recover than adding her to our team. Her enthusiasm makes her too much of a liability."

Tseng defended, "I believe she can rein herself in with a little help. Let's give her a chance. At worst, we have a fangirl following us for a few weeks."

Their comments weighed on her, mind racing with thoughts over the first impression she gave her new leader and fellow Turk. All the actions she took from day one came under the magnifying glass, as she scrutinized the smallest details of her sibling rivalry and the drive that made her push for excellence. Setting her eyes on the handkerchief in her hands, she came to one absolute, undeniable truth that composed the very core of everything she'd made of herself. Through rigorous training and grueling tests of wit, she proved time and time again that one certainty trumped anything she thought she knew about herself.

She was a Turk fangirl.

Elena sniffed the handkerchief in her hand, heading down the hall with the perfect place in mind to hang her latest trophy.


End file.
